


Julius Nicholson and the Donorgate Scandal, or Politics and Probity

by morred



Category: Thick of It (UK)
Genre: Gen, Julius's tragic backstory, M/M, unholy love of biscuits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:17:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morred/pseuds/morred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a spectre looms from Julius Nicholson's past, threatening to bring scandal upon the Government, it's up to Malcolm Tucker (as fucking always) to fix things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Sophie.
> 
> Contains the swearing and questionable taste you would expect from the show. No graphic violence, rape, etc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nicola Murray dreams of policies, Julius Nicholson is summoned for a little chat with Malcolm Tucker, and the occupants of DoSAC talk about sex (baby).

DoSAC offices

‘So, guys,’ Nicola sipped at her lemon zinger carefully (Robyn had looked so sour when she delivered it that Nicola suspected poison) and smiled unfriendlily at Ollie and Glen. ‘I have just been told that we - by which I mean  I \- have been granted an audience with the PM to discuss our flagship policies for this department. Each department is to take a turn in the spotlight, launching a raft of measures that will not only improve the country, but draw some attention away from the inevitable cockups and scandals. Soon it will be DoSAC’s glorious turn to be the policy spearhead as part of this masterplan to show the voters what a dynamic and thrusting government this is. As you’re both supposedly very bright, I expect you’ll have noticed the slight flaw with this plan. For us, I mean. Obviously it’s not up to us to discuss  wider problems.’

‘Would that, er, be our lack of flagship policies?’

‘Yes, Ollie. Well done. Your parents must be very proud. We have no flagship policies. Or indeed any policies at all.’

‘Yes, we have no policies,’ Glenn intoned in a curious sing-song rhythm.

‘What the  fuck ?’ Ollie’s high-pitched interruption made Nicola wish, not for the first time, that her lemon zinger was something stronger.

‘It’s ‘Yes, we have no bananas,’ but with ‘policies’ not ‘bananas’.’ Nicola could hear the quotation marks slipping into place. She had never quite worked out whether Glenn exaggerated them deliberately to irritate Ollie. ‘It’s a  song . Jesus, you really think Radiohead invented music don’t you? Or Coldplay.’

‘It’s a song from the  war, ’ Ollie jeered. ‘Jesus Christ, Glenn. I expect you actually remember your first banana? And then the first time someone told you it went in your  mouth .’

‘So,’ Nicola interrupted with a demented determined cheerfulness, ‘to sum up: we have no policies. I have a policy discussion meeting with the PM. You are my policy advisors. Advise.’

‘What sort of policies are we talking here?’

‘I expect they need to fulfil the Tucker Three Criteria, as usual. One: short words the tabloids understand; two: cheap, preferably free; three: eye-catching.’

‘That’s not  quite how Malcolm phrases it,’ Glenn pointed out. Nicola glared at him.

‘So, I’ve thought of the areas we could cover: global warming - always good, get lots of coverage in the  Guardian and the  Indy  and none of the other departments will want it. We can make it very specific to social affairs and citizenship, which has the happy advantage that we don’t have to  stop global warming.’

‘Healthy eating?’ Ollie suggested. ‘Been a while since we did that. Tie it in to delinquency, teenage depression or something. Kids slice their arms less when they’ve had a satsuma for breakfast, that sort of thing.’

Glenn nodded. ‘You do very well on the family stuff. Plays very well with the focus groups. Not satsumas, though. Tucker wouldn’t be pleased if we caused a national shortage.’

‘Is that not going to be a bit similar to Healthy Choices?’

Ollie pulled a face. ‘Minister. How to put this... No one fucking  remembers Healthy Choices.  I don’t remember Healthy Choices and I  wrote most of it.’

‘But, actually, if you wanted something different, why not do something just for teenagers? They can vote at the next election, so the PM will be pleased. They have all sorts of problems - most of which will be cured by them growing up, which happens automatically - and they’re unfashionable.’

‘Surely that’s a  bad thing.’

‘No,’ Ollie picked up the idea. ‘Because it looks like you’re doing it because you believe in it, not jumping on a bandwagon or chasing headlines or opinion polls.’

‘Even though we are. Excellent. So, a raft of measures for teenagers. What’s wrong with them? I mean, I’ve  got one, but I’m here with you sad sacks so much all I know is they’re surgically attached to their hair straighteners and iphones and communicate in grunts or high-pitched squealing. Perhaps we could offer free translators?’

‘Drugs,’ Ollie pointed out excitedly, at the same time as Glenn said, ‘You let your daughter have an iphone .’

‘I think they can get their own drugs, Ollie.’ Nicola said repressively. 

‘Their music’s shit. That must made them depressed,’ Glenn said.

‘They all get pregnant and drop out of school then split up with their boyfriends and get STDs.’

‘They make bad sexual choices, then,’ Nicola said slowly. ‘We could work with that. And clinics and sex ed are under Health and Education, so we won’t have to  pay for any of that - just make them go the ones that are already there. Encourage them to make better, long-lasting relationships  and if that’s not possible - which it’s probably  not \- to have safer sex.’ She paused. ‘We should run something similar in Westminster.’

Glenn snickered and Ollie flushed very slightly. ‘Now all we need is a name...’

~*~

Julius Nicholson’s office, Westminster

‘Julius! All right if I pop in for a wee chat?’

Julius, who had rather been looking forward to the Early Music Show on the iplayer and a Duchy Original or three, allowed a moment’s annoyance to flash across his face. 

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. Would Baron Arnage of Baldington-Buggery be willing to grant me an audience, your worshipfulness, if it’s not too much fucking  trouble .’

A carefully sculpted eyebrow raised. ‘And who craves an audience?’ Julius asked, smiling, fingers steepled in front of him like, Malcolm thought, an particularly flamboyant bishop.

‘I am Malcolm Tucker, Commander of the armies of Spin and Hades, Scourge of the backbenchers, babysitter to a bedwetting PM, friend to moronic ministers and I will have your shiny  head cut off and mounted on my wall as a warning to other wankers who think they’re fucking  amusing . In this world or the next, etc. Ok?’

Julius only smiled further. ‘Of course, Malcolm. Always a pleasure. Do come in.’ He buzzed through to his secretary and asked for coffee and biscuits. (Malcolm always looked so  thin  \- Julius knew he cultivated the lean and hungry look, but there was no need... if it weren’t for the full head of iron grey hair, the man would look like a sad-eyed famine victim.)

‘So, Julius,’ Malcolm bared his teeth in a faint grin. ‘Today I’d like to talk about money. And don’t give me bollocks about  ungentlemanly to discuss because, firstly - I know you spent a considerable amount of time advising rich cunts how to become richer and cuntier before you joined the revolution, and secondly - I don’t give a shit about gentlemanly behaviour. That just means giving the other fucker a chance to pick up his sword before you stamp his head in.’

‘Dear me, Malcolm - no appreciation for poor Lord Queensbury?’ Julius murmured, while he considered at what potential  money-related issues Malcolm might be driving.

‘Wasn’t he the one who fucked over poor dear Oscar?’ Malcolm shot back, giving Julius a nasty look. Julius decided this would be one of those times he gracefully ceded victory to Malcolm.

‘What, precisely, is it about money that you wish to discuss?’

‘I have heard, through my  impeccable sources, that the Opposition are about to become rather... unstuck’ - a nasty grin - ‘next week, when a paper is going to run an exclusive about the tax status of its donors. One donor in particular, who I understand has kept JB and his friends in tiaras and coke for some time. Now, here’s the thing, Julius - naturally, we’d like to go in hard on this, and twat the bastards for using offshore, non-dom, typical Tory banker  cunts to fund their party. You know the type: buying influence, arms dealing, probably a wee bit of people trafficking on the quiet, all the usual fuckery. However, being a cautious and  careful man, I would very much like to  check a few things before we do that. No one wants a repeat of the last ‘donorgate’ fiasco-

‘There is, I understand, an unspoken rule about using donor scandals-’

‘Aye - because it’s usually mutually assured destruction. But we  need this, Julius. JB is doing too fucking well. The polls are against us, Tom has to call an election at some point in the next six months as - strictly entre nous \- the voters hate us. So we  need this. Need to remind them that JB’s airy-fairy fucking Etonian fancypants new Tories are just the same old shites in nice new suits.’

‘If I might ask, Malcolm, where I come into this? Surely you’re not suggesting-’

‘I’m sure your personal fucking probity is above reproach - trust fund all onshore and invested in helping distressed unicorns and orphans and so forth.’

‘Mm, quite. Apart from the small detail that, as I have told you  many times, I do not  have a trust fund. Or rather, not in the form in which you use the term. I do have several  trusts , but they are all quite above board.’

Malcolm waved aside these insignificant minutiae. ‘You know everyone, Julius. And you understand banks and nested accounts and offshore structured finance options and SPVs and all the rest of that FT Economist leader writer wank. If I get you a list of donors, would you be able to make a few discreet enquiries?’

Julius nodded slowly. ‘I’ll not be involved in anything  illegal or  underhand , Malcolm. But I can do a preliminary check to ascertain the  status of certain persons. Put out a few feelers, as I believe the jargon has it.’ He paused for thought, just as the coffee arrived. Malcolm, as ever, looked at the pot like a vampire seeing a particularly pretty girl in a nightie. ‘Do you have a list of the highest Tory donors?’ Julius asked, trying to sound offhand. ‘I expect I went to school with half of them. While I’m making enquiries, I might as well...’

Malcolm’s grin widened into a genuine smile. ‘Julius! I’d kiss you if I wasn’t afraid baldness was contagious.’

Julius flushed gently and crammed a biscuit hastily into his mouth. Malcolm affected not to notice and turned the conversation to the latest plans to improve social mobility in deprived inner cities. Julius, watching him carefully, would have bet a not insignificant sum that Malcolm was  genuinely interested and went so far as to forget he was talking to the feared head of Press&Comms rather than a more than usually intelligent colleague - and, though he hesitated to use the word - friend.

Malcolm, for his part, would chew off his tongue before he admitted how  restful he found these little chats. Julius’s might be the fucking epitome of  useless , made up,  window-dressing 1 positions, and half his ideas were, of course, completely fucking unworkable in the current political climate, but there was something  refreshing about talking to one of the few people who was a)  competent (Julius could be left alone for  several days and Malcolm would be reasonably confident that the government would still be standing) b) genuinely wanted to improve things and c) apparently completely unconcerned with his own advancement 2 . 

Malcolm twitched his cuff minutely to check his watch. He had half an hour to his next appointment.

He helped himself to another biscuit while Julius beamed approvingly.

1 Julius being, if not the  only , then the most prominent and certainly - in Malcolm’s opinion - the most  decorative gay in Labour’s Westminster village   
2 Nicola Murray had secured her allotment of Malcolm’s limited store of affection by scoring approx. 1.7 points on this test  (definitely fulfilling one criteria and making some headway on each of the others) which was 1.7 more than any other Minister.

~*~

  
DoSAC offices

‘Let’s talk about sex-’

‘Especially for you...’

‘These are  all just  song lyrics . I know a policy has to have a zingy, eye-catching name, but does it have to include a tedious and reaching reference to popular culture?’

‘So what would you suggest, Minister? “A comprehensive review of the incidence of sexually transmitted disease among the 14-18 cohort, culminating in a raft of measures to improve mental and physical health”? Snappy.’

‘Thank you, Ollie. I’m just the Minister, I don’t  have to think of these things. Names are your department, surely.’

‘Your sex is on fire,’ Ollie half-suggested, half-sung, before switching back to deadpan  ‘- bad luck, that’s what chlamydia feels like. You should have used a condom.’

‘Well you’d know,’ Glenn remarked snidely.

‘Only because the only STD they’d invented when you last had sex was  syphillis . I bet you call it VD as well.’

‘Sexual Healing,’ Nicola suggested with a snigger, breaking into the glaring contest between her two advisors.

‘Don’t blame it on the boogie-’

‘No, Glenn. Christ. Don’t  ever say that again - it’s like hearing your dad wanking. And it has to be something at least  slightly related to the  policy and which Nicola can say on national TV without blushing or stuttering.’

There was a knock on the glass partition.

‘I do hate to interrupt your brainstorming, but has this been past the Treasury?’

‘Don’t lie, Terri. You  enjoy interrupting-’

‘And it’s not a brainstorm, Nicholson says we can’t call it that anymore. We’re  ideas streaming-

‘-pissing out a golden shower of ideas, preferably onto Nicholson’s shiny, wipe-clean head.’

‘You know,’ Nicola mused, ‘I’m starting to like this  Nicholson , purely because you two seem to against him.’

‘Malcolm hates him-’ Ollie put in, helpfully.

‘Does he though?’ Glenn mused. ‘He hates him coming up with  ideas and waltzing round like he owns the place. I wouldn’t say he  hates Nicholson  qua Nicholson, though. He saves that for the likes of, well,  you .’

‘Possibly he just doesn’t trust Ministers not to implement a mad idea without telling him. But  anyway , if we could shelve the exciting topic of Malcolm Tucker and his irrational thought processes for  just a second . And I’m grateful for the ideas streaming.’ Nicola sounded anything but grateful. She sounded, as she so often did when dealing with Ollie and Glenn, like the disappointed headteacher of two terminally stupid pupils. ‘But to continue my first point, Terri, yes it had been cleared by the Treasury, and by the Cabinet Office. Double-ticked and costed. You should have been sent the paperwork.’

‘Very good, Minister.’ Terri decided that, in response to the Minister’s totally  unnecessary tone, that she  wouldn’t ask if this had been vetted by Malcolm Tucker. It wasn’t  officially required to approve things with Malcolm, so there would be no professional repercussions (not for  her , she thought gleefully) if they didn’t. 

‘Lust for life,’ Ollie said, once Terri had gone.

There was a pause. ‘Actually, that’s not half bad,’ Glenn admitted grudgingly. Nicola nodded and made a little note. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malcolm Tucker drinks Julius Nicholson's whisky and pays a little visit to the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship

Julius Nicholson's house, Kensington

Malcolm had to admit, the Ambassador for Baldistan was very good at this kind of thing. Within three days, Julius had managed to lunch three Labour donors and bump into two more at evening functions, all without causing so much as a tremor in the journalistic web (and if there was a tremor on the journalistic web, Malcolm  would know about it ). Julius Nicholson discussing art with Lord White, or going to the cricket with Sir Thomas, or running into dear Chris at the opera, was hardly  suspect behaviour, after all.

Julius swung one leg neatly over the other, settled back in his chair and sipped delicately at his whisky. Malcolm, reclining in another chair (Julius’s chairs were  impossible to sit tautly upright in) found himself looking at the strong fingers loosely holding the cut glass. He forced his eyes away and riffled through his pile of papers instead. He felt unusually calm; Julius Nicholson’s private study in his Kensington townhouse was, even to a man as paranoid as Malcolm, pleasingly secure.

‘As far as I can ascertain,’ Julius said, drumming the fingers of his free hand gently against his pinstriped thigh, ‘there is no  major wrongdoing among our donors.  I did hear through the grapevine that Trevor Jones,’ Malcolm shifted a few papers at the name, ‘£10,000 just before the  last election,’ Julius explained smoothly; Malcolm nodded, ‘has a large portion of his income routed through Jersey and his tax status is... almost certainly not  illegal , you understand, but nevertheless. But he was a one-time-only donor, and he hasn’t received any  influence in the party that I could find.’

‘Not like you, eh?’ Malcolm said quietly, watching Julius’s face. Julius looked pained and he moved his hand away from his thigh to grip the exquisitely upholstered arm of his chair.

‘Malcolm, I believe it’s a matter of public record that I gave a very  small sum, a  number of years ago. And while I may have some  small influence, you know as well I do that I am  scrupulous at working through democratic channels and-’

‘-and for the greater good.’ Malcolm raised an eyebrow and had another mouthful of Julius’s quite  excellent Islay malt. Julius ignored this.

‘And I could, if one can be  crude about this, be making  far more outside government with a good deal less  grief-  but I chose to come here in the  hope - ’

He gave every sign of going on at some length, but Malcolm unleashed a tooth-filled smile and Julius stuttered to a halt. ‘You naughty  bastard , Malcolm Tucker. You know how  seriously I take any accusations-’

‘If you took it a wee bit less seriously, it would be less fucking  amusing to tease you, wouldn’t it?’

Julius scowled at him.

‘Anyway, to return to the matter at hand, there are one or two names,’ Julius pushed a sheet of elegantly handwritten names across the coffee table towards Malcolm, ‘that I think might require some  strategy on your part. It’s not my area of expertise, of course, but I doubt any of them would pose an insurmountable challenge to your press-wrangling skills. In fact, though I say it who shouldn’t, this might give us a chance to  dissociate ourselves to one or two that perhaps no longer quite represent the  ideals of the  project .’

Malcolm reflected that Julius might never wield the stiletto himself, but the great bald teddy bear was more willing than you might think to provide the name of a good swordsmith and a list of people who might need to... disappear. And, he noted approvingly, it was a handwritten list of names, untitled. It looked like the start of a guest list or table plan.

‘The second column there,’ Julius continued smoothly, ‘are the worst Opposition offenders. I must say, there are one or two that presented quite a  shock . Naive, of course, to assume that just because- Though it wasn’t difficult to dredge up this information, Malcolm, so I think the newspapers will already have it.’

Malcolm nodded and grinned, scanning the list. Most of the names elicited a small tight smile and a look of recognition. ‘This is  good , Julius. Many thanks.’

Julius concentrated quite hard on not thinking about how he felt about Malcolm thanking him while he drank  his whisky in  his  house. During a private meeting. With Malcolm. In his house. Grinning.

Malcolm, buoyed up by the thought of imminent Tory-twattting, looked better than he had of late, but Julius still diagnosed a certain lack of  care about the man; something strained behind the eyes. It would be unforgivably fanciful to say he looked  unloved.

‘I do hate to draw your attention to a potential fly in our collective Party soup, Malcolm, but I must say it was, ah, easier to carry out these checks due to the rather  reduced number of our private donors.’

The earlier signs of triumph disappeared as Malcolm wiped a tired hand over his face, veins running blue beneath grey skin. Even Julius’s soft lighting could hardly bring a glow to Malcolm’s pallor. ‘I know. It’s - thank fuck it’s not actually my fucking responsibility-’

Julius had a vision of Malcolm on the party funding circuit. Demanding money with menaces did seem more his  style .

‘I haven’t checked for potential liabilities in the trades unions,’ Julius began, smiling lightly when Malcolm met his eyes, trying to instill a small moment of  cheer . To his quiet joy, Malcolm’s lips unbent slightly.

‘No, best not, eh. For a start, that’s a fucking can of worms I will  not be opening unless things really do end up at Shit Creek. Also, you know you’re not fucking  allowed to talk to the unions, my lord.’ Julius’s face went carefully blank at Malcolm’s use of his title. ‘Not even to recommend a simply fucking divine Melton Mowbray you’ve just discovered in a delightful little deli off the fucking King’s Road.’

Julius laughed. ‘I see you’ve  been , then. Mention my name - there’s a new olive dressing that is simply exquisite and I’m sure they’d be happy to offer you a  sample .’ Malcolm scowled. ‘It is a  shame about the unions. Though I quite take your point that they seem unable to see me without visualising the top hat and cane of the factory owner. I wear  many hats, Malcolm, but the top hat of international capitalist fascism is not one of them.’

‘If it’s any comfort, I’m no’ allowed to talk to them either. I’m apparently a fucking class traitor because I like  working , or bein’ able to afford food and fascist luxuries like that.’

Julius, who had long admired Malcolm’s suits and general artistic taste - and had seen inside his flat, once - knew Malcolm could afford rather  more than the bare necessities of life. He was hardly  on the breadline . But perhaps Malcolm needed to believe certain things in order to keep on. Everyone, Julius thought generously, has their small hypocrises.

‘I’ve always agreed with your remark that we don’t mind people being really  quite wealthy, so long as they pay their share towards the nation’s growth, and the proceeds of that growth are shared equally among citizens according to their needs. And  class traitor is a particularly  ugly insult.’

Malcolm eyed him thoughtfully. Julius Nicholson, independent business and financial advisor, as discreet as he was expensive, had been instrumental in making it acceptable for the City to vote Labour. For the first time, it struck Malcolm that this might have been at some personal cost.

He knew, of course, that the party faithful - bunch of ungrateful wankers - were hardly  fond of Julius. But Malcolm had always (despite his qualms about Julius’s more idiotic  policy suggestions and his occasional  bids for power -  the pantry-stealing  bastard ) been  adamant that the party could not be successful in the modern age unless it learnt to fucking tolerate the Julius Nicholsons of the world. It hadn’t occurred to him previously that it might not just have been Julius’s  new friends who openly despised him.

‘Aye, well. Placating the unions at least gives us an answer to the often-fucking-asked question: why is Fatty in the Cabinet, eh?’

Julius laughed, slightly guiltily. Malcolm drained his whisky. ‘I must be fucking off, Julius. Leave you in peace. Thanks again for this, I do fucking appreciate it. There are few calls I need to make, otherwise I’d quite happily drink  all your whisky.’

Julius concealed whatever disappointment he might have felt. ‘Goodnight, Malcolm. Don’t let the bastards grind you down. It sounds as though we might be receiving a small portion of  luck shortly.’

Much as Julius disliked victories brought about by showing the other side to be conniving, grasping and immoral (rather than  misguided on matters of  policy and strategy ), he could appreciate the  realpolitik .

‘I  am the fucking bastards,’ Malcolm replied, with a shit-eating grin. ‘And this might be just the push we need. Tories fucked, and us - if not fucking squeaky-clean, then at least white enough to call the fuckers black and get away with it. No racial fucking overtones intended,’ he added, seeing that Julius was preparing to put on his PC-inspector hat.

Julius smiled wearily. ‘Goodnight, Malcolm. Go well.’

‘Goodnight, Julius,’ Malcolm said, sincerely and kindly. Then Malcolm, or perhaps the whisky he’d drunk, added, ‘Look after yourself, yeah.’ Julius, surprised, flushed and nodded assent.

Malcolm had coped in the years since his wife left by not interrogating his own feelings too often or too closely. But even he couldn’t avoid a sensation of regret as he stood on Kensington High Street, flagging down a taxi. Suddenly, the prospect of returning to his own flat - of which he’d always been  proud , if never really  fond \- seemed disappointing. He opened his door and saw for the first time the empty soulless white box other people had always accused it of being.

~*~

  
DoSAC offices

‘You know, this is actually quite fucking good. We might be able to fucking  use this with a minimum of rewriting .’

Overhearing, Terri scowled. Launching policies was always so much _work_.

Nicola tried not to beam too much. ‘And the Treasury’s approved it and released funds - not much, but some.’

‘Well it’s a fuck sight better than the wankers at Health or Transport have come up with. But you know you’ve got to wait for them to unleash their amazing new strategies before you can use this, yeah?’

‘Yes, Malcolm. I understand the idea.’

‘Actually, pet, it’ll work in your favour, because all the papers are going to care about for the next fortnight is just how many Russian billionaires the Tory donors have treated to a hand shandy on their private yachts.’

‘It’s  exciting , isn’t it!’ Nicola very nearly  hugged him. ‘And this is a  real policy , Malcolm. It might even  help people.’

Malcolm managed a very restrained smile. ‘I’m glad I popped by. Sometimes it’s nice, you know, to drop in on little ol’ DoSAC on my way to fucking rip the  cocks off Transport upstairs.’

‘Well, it’s always lovely to see you, Malcolm.’

‘One thing - the name. Are you for  real ? “Lust for Life”. Jesus, Nic’la. You can’t use that. It sounds like you’re providing free vibrators for grannies.’

Nicola sighed. ‘Thank you, Malcolm. We’ll take that on board.’


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we first hear of Darius de Vere, Julius Nicholson follows procedure and Malcolm Tucker is unsettled.

Office of Malcolm Tucker, Westminster

Malcolm was disturbed during his gleeful perusal of every major newspaper (all leading with the TORIES ARE CUNTS story that Malcolm felt reflected a deep and under-reported truth) over a skinny latte by Julius Nicholson knocking on his door.

Malcolm knew it was Julius from the knock. Only Julius had perfected a knock that was both apologetic and authoritative. (Probably learnt it as a  prefect when he had to interrupt the dormitory  wankathons to check everyone had their lights out, Malcolm thought.) 

Also, Julius was one of the few people whom Sam allowed to knock on Malcolm’s door before she had buzzed through to sound the intruder alert.

Malcolm knew something was  wrong because Julius didn’t accompany his knocking with a sing-song, ‘Knock knock.’ 1

‘Come in,’ Malcolm said, quickly, so the invitation was given (moments) before Julius actually entered. He folded the paper he’d been reading carefully, so the face of the latest Tory caught out with his tongue up an arms’ dealer’s arse smiled up at him. ‘Julius,’ he said expansively. ‘Always a pleasure. I was just admiring the latest  Telegraph revelations. Nothing like good old fashioned investigative journalism is there - so much nicer than all that tawdry muckraking you see nowadays.’

This didn’t provoke the pursed lips and haughty  injured look that Malcolm had hoped for. 

‘Actually, Malcolm, it’s that article about which I wanted to see you.’ His hands were clamped behind his back and he looked  shamefaced . The upper-class sentence mangling was another danger sign. Malcolm felt a brief wave of foreboding, chill down his spine.

He gestured at a chair and offered tea. Julius refused; Malcolm very nearly called security.

‘So-’ Malcolm prompted, when Julius did nothing more than sit nervously on the edge of his seat. ‘Come on, Baldemort, choke it the fuck down or spit it the fuck out as the Tory said to his nanny.’

‘It’s a rather  delicate matter, Malcolm. But- well, you always say that the absolutely standard procedure must be to report to you if ever one suspects that- that there might be  unfortunate news that has, ah, the possibility of emerging in the public eye.’

‘It’s  standard procedure that I wished more of the fuckers would follow,’ Malcolm grumbled on autopilot while his mind shuffled through the possible scandals Julius could cause: he was entirely safe from love-children; Julius had better taste than to be fucking any of the Cabinet or Shadow Cabinet (and Malcolm happened to know, as part of his standard background checking on those close to the heart of government, that Julius wasn’t currently with  anyone , scandalous or otherwise); if Julius had  ever beaten anyone up Malcolm would eat his own hair; and he didn’t take any drugs stronger than alcohol and that only in moderation, as far as Malcolm knew (again, from his  perfectly standard checks). Julius was practically perfect in every way. 

‘It’s small wonder they don’t come to you if this is the compassionate listening ear they receive,’ Julius snapped. ‘Sorry- my apologies. I’m rather  perturbed by this turn of events.’ This interview was not going  anything like Julius had imagined.

If it had got Julius’s big frilly girl knickers in a twist, then it probably  was serious. Malcolm put down his pen and looked competent and frightening. It was an approach that generally worked, though Julius was usually annoyingly (yet somehow  reassuringly ) impervious to the frightening aspect.

‘I’m all fucking ears, here. I’m the lovechild of Andrew Fucking Marr and Nellie the Elephant.’

There was a tense silence. Julius wished he  had asked for a cup of tea.

‘It’s about Darius,’ he managed eventually, and was immediately aware of the flush spreading up from his collar. ‘Darius de Vere.’

Malcolm twisted his lips in a sneer. ‘Jesus. That’s even worse than yours, Julius. Might as well call him Cuntface Nannyfucker von Bullingdon-Poshtwat and be done wi’ it.’

‘It’s about  Darius , the Tory donor profiled as a sidenote in today’s  Telegraph as a  defence consultant  with highly suspect links to the Russians-’

‘The one who sold them the pretty bits of metal now littering Chechnya, yeah? That Darius de Vere. What about him, Julius. You weren’t at school were you?’ Malcolm glanced at the paper in front of him. ‘No, Westminster for him. That’s clever and rich, rather than just incredibly rich, isn’t it? If I remember my social fucking distinctions correctly?’

Julius stood up so suddenly Malcolm had to fight the urge to lean back in his own chair. Furiously pacing the room, hands waving frantically, Julius’s voice rose half an octave.

‘For  christ’s sake , Malcolm. I am trying to tell you something  important here, and all you can do is make  fucking jokes. Sorry- sorry. But, Malcolm. This  isn’t funny . And yes, it’s  Darius , the Russian weapons expert, apparently. Who also happens to be Darius my former business partner-‘

‘Darius an’ Julius, eh?’ Malcolm wasn’t sure  why he kept interrupting. He just knew he didn’t want to hear Julius  whining on at such length. ‘What was your business? Roman-themed rentboys?’

‘I think you’ll find, Malcolm, that Darius is a name of  Persian  origin,’ Julius visibly relaxed as a didactic tone crept into his voice. ‘But that aside. Malcolm- he was-’

He collapsed suddenly back into the chair, slumped with none of his customary grace. Malcolm looked at him in shocked horror, his face slowly draining of colour.

‘Fucking  hell ,’ Malcolm said, very quietly. ‘He was-?’

Julius nodded, mute. 

‘You were fucking?’

‘He was my  partner . Business and- for a while- he was also- .’

Malcolm would have taken pity, except this was  serious . Headlines span in front of his eyes.

‘How much of a while? And how long ago?’

‘Two or three years, fifteen years or more ago. I was in my early twenties,’ Julius caught sight of Malcolm scrutinising the photo in the paper. ‘He’s a  few years older than me,’ Julius snapped tartly. ‘He- we met at university. We- I wasn’t-’

‘You weren’t an arms dealer or a gun-runner or a drug smuggler. Well hoo-fucking-ray. That’s ok then, as long as you weren’t actually fucking making the bombs yourself, eh? What was it?’ Malcolm was pacing the room himself, now. Julius stared at his knees as Malcolm stormed behind him. ‘Cynanide for Russian sushi? Landmines for Princess Di? Coke for the Kremlin. Or were- Christ, Julius, no - I’d know if you’d ever financed private fucking armies to  liberate your own African country, though I’d no’ be  surprised . Diamond smuggling? Was that it?’

‘It was,’ Julius quietly and with dignity, though his voice was thick, ‘a  financial business - venture capital. It was absolute all above board, I assure you, Malcolm.  None of our investors or the projects in which we were invested were  anything other than legitimate. I appreciate it looks rather  black but you- I would  never -’ his voice calmed, becoming steadier in reaction to Malcolm’s implacable glare, ‘be involved in anything  improper  or  unethical , as anyone who  knows me would vouch. There’s nothing- I’m not  implicated in any  wrongdoing , but it must- it looks rather bad.’

‘Christ on a- it  looks bad , Julius? It looks like what’d happen if Susan Boyle mated with a fucking  turd  \- which, by the way, would be  out of her league . You went into business with some glamorous older man who was also  fucking you.  An older man who is now,’ Malcolm made a show of opening the paper to the appropriate page and scanning the columns, ‘a drug baron and an arms dealer. You know, I actually fucking thought better of you, Julius. ’

Julius flushed but stared Malcolm down, brows drawn firmly together. ‘It wasn’t-  I’m not  proud of it. I was  young and he was- charismatic, I suppose, and when I- I realised I’d  misjudged his character I dissolved our associations  immediately . Private  and business, Malcolm. He’s a- a  shit . And at least, my  sexuality won’t be a revelation. That’s  something , no?’ Julius couldn't avoid a shrewd and not entirely friendly look at Malcolm, who ignored him. ‘At least we don’t have to worry about  that coming out.’

Malcolm ran a hand over his face and scrubbed it against his short hair. He couldn’t meet Julius’s eyes.

‘Julius, we- believe me, I don’t fucking  want to ask you this, but what sort of details are they going to find? Exciting, splash-across-the-front-page stuff, or boringly complicated financial and legal fuckery that the red tops’ll just ignore and the  Indy’ ll do a pull-out chart for?’

Malcolm had a moment’s terror that Julius was going to sob. Which did, at least, answer the question. Personal fucking revelations. Malcolm’s  favourite . He paced across his office and rummaged in a cupboard. ‘Here, Julius-’ he said softly, proffering a pack of biscuits. ‘Have one of those and tell me about it.’

Julius recognised the tin - he’d given it to Malcolm the previous Christmas, full of savoury biscuits for when Malcolm had to pull an all-nighter. 

Malcolm opened the tin - now full of brownies - and put it down heavily on the edge of his desk. ‘Sam’s mam made them, they’re no’ bad.’ He pressed a small glass of brandy into Julius’s hand. Julius looked at him and blinked hard. ‘Dinnae fash yourself, we’ll sort it,’ Malcolm said, more reassuringly than he felt. ‘Now, what are they going to be able to dig up about you and Darius the cunt?’

  
1 Malcolm  used to assume, charitably, that Julius both  knocked and  announced his presence as some sort of inclusive diversity wank. But if some poor fucker was too deaf to hear the knocking, that same fucker could hardly hear  Julius , however clarion his inbred tones. Malcolm therefore revised his opinion and assumed Julius was being considerate and giving everyone the best possible chance to evacuate the room before he walked in - a chance that most people took.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Malcolm Tucker reads the papers, Julius Nicholson makes a statement and the British press excel themselves

The first day of coverage was better than Malcolm had hoped. They’d found one sepia-tinged picture of Julius and a shorter man, blond, slender but obviously muscled under an immaculately cut suit, and with charisma that flared from the page even across fifteen years’ distance. A cigarette drooped from long fingers. Julius, tall and slim, one arm slung over Darius’s shoulder, had most of his hair, which made Malcolm smile faintly and scrutinise the picture closely. For  clues or other  important press-related reasons .

The revelations were  mainly about Darius and his more recent dodgy business dealings (Malcolm had made a few phone calls to fucking  ensure all journalists had plenty of access to  those details). But it was only a matter of time before Stewart fucking jizz matrix Pearson decided this would be the perfect opportunity for a Tory fightback. As Stewart would say, if you’re one of two hunters, out of ammo and faced by a lion, you don’t have to outrun the lion, only the other hunter. The best way to get the press off your man was to throw it something juicier. (Malcolm tended to think that the best solution was to twat the fucking lion in the face, or make sure you’re not enough of a  moron to end up without any ammunition.)

The next day, the papers were going for the ‘questionable judgement’ angle. How far could the “Prime Minister’s top policy advisor” really be trusted when had had a “damaging homosexual liaison with an older man whilst still at Oxford” and “was part of a circle of elite young men at the heart of the heady, money-making, drug-fuelled Thatcher years“. 

There was never any suggestion Julius had done anything  wrong  (Julius had deep pockets and many lawyers), but the general idea (Malcolm felt very slightly guilty that this was a system he had all but  invented ) was to inflict so much blanket coverage that the poor victim had to resign just to make it stop. The headlines were variations on a  theme : “Nicholson has always been less  fortunate in his love life than in his business dealings - but Darius de Vere provided the perfect storm” - that one particularly worried Malcolm, with its hints at  other unhappy love affairs and ex-boyfriends lurking in the woodshed. Thankfully no one Julius had been fucking was likely to need the money  a tabloid expose would provide .

“Nicholson is believed to have made several million as a businessman and business advisor after his break from de Vere”

“Nicholson has since renounced his earlier association with De Vere and now lives an apparently blameless bachelor life-”

“Nicholson has also been linked with a string of top diplomats and financial officials”. 

(Julius found that last headline particularly  grieving , having never been involved with a  string of people in his  life.  He had never been the  promiscuous type.  One attache to the French ambassador and  one financier in Switzerland was hardly a  string . Malcolm had to listen to half an hour’s indignant rant before Julius could be persuaded not to write a stinging letter to the Editor in response.)

On the third day, Malcolm heard from his sources that the story was  not going to die, and that - worst of all - the  Sun had managed to dredge up someone claiming to be a friend of Julius and Darius who was going to give an exclusive on Darius’s “abusive” relationships, while the Tories had successfully broken all ties. 

JB had all but sobbed on  Newsnight about how cruelly he’d been deceived by de Vere. ‘Who - and obviously this isn’t a  defence , Jeremy - but he does seem to have had rather a  history of pulling the wool over the eyes of those whom we might expect to show better judgement.’

Julius had effectively gone into hiding - he hadn’t been seen in public since the story broke. Though as he told Malcolm, shakily (on the phone - Malcolm couldn’t risk anyone seeing the head of Press visiting him; staying away upset him more than he’d expected) the knowledge that he’d done  nothing wrong was barely providing a shield against the shock of seeing his name on every piece of newsprint in the country. And linked to such  unpleasant suggestions.

He gave a dignified press statement - short and perfectly orchestrated, in which he reiterated his personal innocence, saying he was young at the time and perhaps  flattered by the attention of someone like Darius, but that despite his innocence, due to the unremitting focus of the media, his continued position as the PM’s Chief of Policy was damaging the Party that he admired and loved and impeding the important work of government, so he was stepping sideways into a less high profile role.

The next day, the  Sun and the  News of the World both ran a story about a member of the Shadow Cabinet who’d paid for his secretary’s abortion (one from Malcolm’s emergency files), the  Telegraph mysteriously found another Tory donor with shady financial dealings to lead with - one who had actually stayed numerous times in Putin’s  dacha (with exciting hints of birch twigs and homoeroticism). Julius Nicholson and Darius de Vere were relegated to the inside pages and after that disappeared altogether.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which DoSAC extends the hand of welcome to a new member of their happy team, Malcolm Tucker retreats to his office and plots revenge, and Nicola Murray creates a favourable impression.

‘This is fucking typical. Why do  we have to have the disgraced homosexual peer?’

‘Because he has a  particular interest in social issues,’  Ollie attempted the anodyne whine of an upper class press spokesman, ‘and this is a nice safe place to stow him until the fuss dies down. And mainly because Malcolm  said this was where he had to be. And  don’t say  homosexual like that, Glenn. It makes you sound nearly as old as you actually are.’

Glenn raised one finger in Ollie’s direction. ‘It’s a bit late to start sucking up to Nicholson now. He’s a busted flush. And he wanted to shut us down, not that long ago.’

‘Yeah, when  Hugh was in charge. I wanted to shut us down then. Anyone with a  brain wanted us shut down.’

‘You two are going to be nice, aren’t you?’ Nicola asked, bustling into the office. ‘I’ve spoken with Malcolm and this is very much a  temporary secondment. Lord Nicholson will-’

‘-be treated with a bit of fucking respect,’ Malcolm announced, making Nicola jump and clutch a hand to her chest. ‘Mornin’ all. I hoped you’ve tidied up. Just a quick briefing before Baron Von Crap turns up.’

Glenn pulled a face at Ollie behind Malcolm’s back. ‘Stop fucking sniggering, Reeder, you little  wankstain . If you came up with half the fucking policies Nicholson did, you widnae be stuck in this shitehole. No offence meant, Nic’la. Of course if Nicholson only came up with half the policies he does, we’d  all like him a fuck sight better.’

‘None taken,’ Nicola murmured weakly. 

‘Right. Nicholson might look like Yul Brunner’s balder brother but he is a fucking  asset to this Party and anyone being  unnecessarily unpleasant to the great bald fairy will feel my wrath, ok? The following words are  forbidden , and I  will know if anyone uses them: ‘disgraced’, ‘peer’, ‘homosexual’, ok? He’s not fucking disgraced, this is a strategic realignment that makes best use of his talents while we stop the fucking cannibals in the press corps from hounding one of our most respected advisors to death, ok? He is completely innocent of all wrongdoing apart from being a massive baldy Baron who probably apologises before he comes. That is the fucking line and anyone not walking it will see me. And that will be the  last fucking thing they see.’

There were nods of assent.

‘You  do not have to do everything he says, but some of his suggestions - within  appropriate limits \- might actually be helpful. If in doubt, refer them to me. And you might need him, because obviously your Lust for Life or Titwanks for Grandad or whatever it’s called is now officially Fucked to Death.’ 

‘Well naturally ,’ Ollie sneered. He’d been  quite fond of the Lust for Life policy.  Several people - important, influential people - had expressed cautious  admiration . ‘This department can hardly be associated with  sexual health and  healthy sexual choices  while we’re also acting as a refugee camp for someone who thought it would be a good idea to fuck a coke-smuggling arms dealer-’

‘Actually, Oliver, he wasn’t a coke-smuggler or an arms dealer when I knew him. I believe I made that  quite clear in my statement to the press. And in the interests of  accuracy , I believe he employs other people to smuggle the coke.’

Ollie, Nicola noticed, had enough vestiges of humanity left to blush as Julius sailed into the office.

‘Lord Nicholson,’ Nicola said, going up to him, hands outstretched. ‘Nicola Murray, I don’t think we’ve actually met. It’s a  pleasure .’

‘Well, I’ll be off,’ Malcolm said cheerily, slapping a hand on Julius’s shoulder. ‘Do keep in mind what I said.’

Julius nodded a goodbye to Malcolm - definitely  not looking like a man abandoned with a strange and unknown tribe of savages - while Ollie glared balefully at his retreating back. ‘It’s Julius, please. And I only wish I could be, ah, visiting the Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship under rather  happier circumstances. It’s kind of you to put me up.’

Glenn and Ollie were both visibly on the verge of saying they’d hardly had any  choice in the matter or playing a particularly  hilarious joke such as offering Julius some  old fruit  or a packet of  fudge , so Nicola steered Julius towards what had, until recently, been her office. ‘This is the best we can do, Julius,’ she said, with a desperate kindly cheer. ‘You can do what you can to make it your own, of course. I’m just next door. Can I- is there anything I can do, now?’

Rigorous early training combined with a high degree of natural politeness allowed Julius to maintain a neutral expression as he looked at the glass and plastic wasteland. ‘Thank you, Nicola. That’s most kind of you - and thank you for your welcome. But I think I shall just  settle in now, and perhaps bring some of my personal effects over in due course.’

‘Of course. And don’t let those two morons upset you- they- well, they  do mean it. But you mustn’t let them get to you.’

Julius smiled rather sadly. ‘I’m sure I’ve had worse said of me, by those better qualified to express an opinion.’ He put his armful of books and papers down on the desk and set a few pens next to them. ‘There, that’s already an  improvement . Can we schedule a meeting to discuss some policy ideas for some time hence? I’m afraid we decided to  what department I’d be removing rather  hastily and I would like just to bring myself  up to speed  on the particulars.’

‘Would you like a briefing-? Or I could send you some papers.’

‘That would be  most kind, thank you. And if there’s anything else I should know about the department, little quirks, that sort of thing, so please let me know. I should like to  fit in as soon as possible.’ Julius beamed. Nicola couldn’t decide it was a genuine smile or the demented grin of a missionary trying to persuade the cannibals at he was  one of them . She had an urge to advise him to  stay away from Ollie . ‘Then we can get straight down to business.’

Nicola nodded. ‘Yes, I’d be eager to get onto policy sooner rather than later - as soon as you’re comfortable with how we roll here!’ She smiled, a little manically. ‘And perhaps the less said about our  quirks the better. We’re on policy showcase in three weeks as I’m sure you know - they’ve  kindly shunted another department ahead of us, and our most recent effort has, er, well-’

‘Just received the kiss of death from Malcolm?’

‘Exactly. So any advice gratefully received. Or we’ll have to go back to Glenn’s idea of forcing children to watch  Newsnight so they feel engaged in the democratic process. ‘

Malcolm Tucker’s office, Westminster

Malcolm sat in his office. The door was locked and Sam had been instructed that as far as anyone else was concerned, Malcolm was  out and she didn’t know when he’d be back.

He’d put out the combined fatwa and call for information already. Now it was time to go through the tidbits that had been drifting in and think through his list of favours. And perhaps to put through a call to one of his friends at New Scotland Yard and a quick email to the Pentagon. A couple of people owed him there. It would do  no harm to remind them of the fact. 

Halfway through the afternoon Malcolm took two calls in succession. One from a private untraceable number.  ‘Da , Dimitri.  Slushayu vas . Yes, I know. Well your Scottish is pretty fucking appalling an’ all-’

He listened intently for about ten minutes, making copious notes, then hung up with the beginnings of a smile.

The second call was from Washington and left Malcolm with a definite grin. Time to call Scotland Yard. And perhaps the smallest of words in the Home Secretary’s ear. And the Justice Minister, grey boring fuck that he was. Malcolm could probably get him a nice  Me and My Spoon  feature in the  Guardian if he played along. **  
**

~*~

  
DoSAC offices

After Julius had been with DoSAC a week, he appeared resigned to his fate and was settling in. Nicola looked on with awe and not a little jealousy as her office was transformed - a wooden desk appeared (carried by a group of men who looked like they’d stepped out an old Diet Coke ad, much to Robyn’s noisy disgust and Terri and Nicola’s quiet enjoyment), and a drinks cabinet and kettle, and a huge bookcase, now filled with files and the odd novel. 

He had managed to charm Glenn by producing a ‘spare’ ticket to Lords, and had apparently (somehow) impressed on Ollie that he was still an important policy-making figure, who knew the right people and who probably  shouldn’t be upset. Ollie was all but carrying his coat for him, much to Nicola and Glenn’s amusement. (Glenn began to refer to him, though not in either Nicola or Julius’s hearing, as Nicholson’s fag.)

Terri, to her surprise, found that Julius wanted to buy ten raffle tickets she was selling to raise money for her next musical production, and proclaimed a great  affection for  Carmen . If he couldn’t  quite see (or indeed  hear ) Terri as the eponymous gypsy temptress, he was wise enough to keep that opinion to himself. Nicola, who hadn’t even  known Terri regularly tried to sell raffle tickets at work, was persuaded to buy five. Glenn and Ollie each bought two tickets  to see the show and were frustrated in their attempts to lose them by Julius  helpfully returning them or, in one case, making sure Terri got them  replacements after theirs inadvertently fell into the urinal in the DoSAC gents.

Malcolm seemed to be in the department more often than usual, though rarely at full Defcon Bollock 5. Instead he’d appear, chat to/harangue Nicola about her policy brainstorming and then (as Glenn and Ollie sniggeringly put it) closet himself in Julius’s office for a coffee ( discussing strategy was how they both described these meetings - and it was probably what they genuinely believed they were doing) before sweeping out to instigate a new round of surround-sound bollocking to the other Departments.

~*~

  
Julius stood as Nicola shuffled into her office (evidently no meetings today, Julius noted when he saw the trainers - who  was the sorry trendsetter who decided that  neon is to  sportswear as  gin is  tonic ) and motioned her into one of the comfortable chairs. ‘Allow me to get you a cup of tea?’ Nicola nodded gratefully. ‘I know you don’t drink caffeine - very  wise , if you’ll permit me such an observation - but I think I have something here that might, ah, tickle your fancy.’

Nicola refrained from rolling her eyes with difficulty - she was  fond of Julius, whose heart was obviously in the right place, provided one thought the  right place was dripping messily on one’s sleeve - but it was a worrying sign that she often  heard Ollie and Glenn-style observations in her head when Julius produced one of his particularly  Julius moments. She accepted a steaming porcelain cup of something that smelled heavenly of lemon.

‘This isn’t lemon zinger, is it?’ She smiled. Lemon zinger a la Robyn tasted of a curious mixture of wheat, kitchen cleaner and bubble bath. Julius made a little moue of distaste.

‘I’m afraid I keep my own stock of beverages here. I did  try to instigate a  kitty system at my previous office but it, ah, never quite got off the ground.’ His expression suggested someone had pissed in the tea leaves. (Every department has its Ollie). ‘This is a green tea with lemon infusion - Taylors of Harrogate. You must tell me what you think, I’m more of a black tea man, myself.’ Julius smiled and passed her the biscuits.

Nicola sipped her tea and involuntarily sank lower into the chair. ‘This is  excellent , Julius. Thank you. If you ever quit politics- god, sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll just take my foot out my mouth now. Can you forget I said-’

‘Forget that you alluded to me leaving politics, or that you suggested I’d make an admirable butler.’ Julius  twinkled at her and Nicola laughed and snaffled another biscuit (also lemon). ‘Shall we move on to policy?’

He watched, impressed, as Nicola visibly switched to business mode. ‘Right, well I want to stick with families, and preferably teenagers. Partly because it’ll save on research and so on, but partly because I honestly think is an area that hasn’t been addressed properly so far.’

‘I’ve been considering the options. I wonder if you would be interested in a partnership. My dear friend Kim - I knew her at Oxford - now runs a company in central London for troubled teenagers. You know the thing? Mentoring, homework clubs, how not to join a criminal gang. Quite award-winning and so forth. She’s been in the press fairly often:  Guardian features, that sort of thing. She’s been keen for some time to expand and to get a bit of  official backing for what she’s doing but she, well, she got her fingers burnt when she spoke with Health and Education. She’s, ah, a rather  fearsome lesbian , so if that’s likely to be a  problem- ’

‘I can’t imagine it would be,’ Nicola retorted. ‘And if she gets hungry we can always feed her Ollie. Sorry, sorry, not funny. Very poor taste. I obviously wouldn’t say that to  anyone else but you, Julius. But I’m not surprised she didn’t have fun at Health or Ed. Idiots there wouldn’t know a good idea if it hit them repeatedly in the face screaming I’M A FUCKING GOOD IDEA. Nor are they keen on women being in charge. The wrong lesson to take from the Thatcher years, I’ve always thought.’

Julius gave Nicola a mildly reproachful look that made her think she’d perhaps spent too much time with Malcolm.

‘And you think she’d come on board?’

‘Certainly. I think if you approach her and are your usual enthusiastic and  respectful  self, and mention my name, she’d be very excited by the opportunity to work with you. With us, I should say. A DoSAC initiative, with Kim advising and delivering some of the key target services.’

Nicola beamed and had a celebratory biscuit. She’d had to step up her gym visits since Julius had moved in. Julius rubbed his hands together joyfully. He did so like it when things  came together .

~*~

Julius Nicholson’s study, Kensington

‘She’s really rather  impressive , Malcolm. I can see why you’re fond of her.’ Julius and Malcolm were having a short  chat to mark the end of Julius’s first fortnight in DoSAC, once again ensconced in Julius’s study.

‘I’m not fucking  fond of her , Julius. Just because she’s marginally less fucking incompetent than the other brain dead morons I have to work with-’

‘Charmed, I’m sure.’

‘I meant the other  ministers . And the pleb MPs as well, though thank fuck the whips deal with them. Not you, you great baldy highest-first-in-your-fucking-year  fuck . ’

Julius actually  blushed . ‘But actually, Malcolm, Nicola is quite  refreshingly enthusiastic about what we could achieve here. Kim took to her right away. I’m cautiously optimistic that the new  rebuild: retrain: rejuvenate scheme is going to be  quite successful. ’

‘Not  rejuvenate though. Rejuvenate-juve-juvenile-juvenile delinquent- scum . I know how hacks think, Julius. Call it  revive or something else.’

‘ Revive sounds like an energy drink . All sugar and steroids. I shall ask Ollie and Glenn to think of something.’ Julius kept his face carefully blank. Malcolm glared at him. 

‘Very fucking funny. Though Ollie’s no’ bad if you keep him on a tight leash. But gettin’ Kim on board is a real coup. And not the sort that makes the  Indy paint its fucking front page black and intone  tragic loss of life somewhere you’ve never heard of and don’t give a shit about .’

A small nod from Julius. ‘If it goes well, I think it would be advantageous for Tom to be  aware of Nicola and her good work. And if there were to be a reshuffle any time soon?’

‘A short spell at the Home Office, you mean? And then if Tom suddenly found his family inexplicably wanted him to spend a bit more time with them...’

‘Quite. Though such matters are of course ultimately the  Prime Minister’s decision .’

‘Oh yes, of course. I wouldn’ae fucking  dream of suggesting anything else. An’ nor would you, Lord Nicholson.’ There was a pause while Julius once again reflected how  bad it was to feel a slight  thrill whenever Malcolm called him  lord,  and Malcolm sipped thoughtfully at his coffee. (Decaffeinated, though Julius hadn’t  informed him of this fact. It was  far too late for full strength coffee, which Malcolm drank  far too often anyway.) ‘I hope you’re not finding DoSAC too fucking appalling, Julius. I’m- well, it was unavoidable, but I’m sorry we had to move you.’

‘No- no, Malcolm. I do understand the  necessity . And quite the opposite. A change is as good as a rest, as they say. And you seem to be there often, which is- ‘

‘That’s the advantage of having so many ministers in one building- it’s a one stop bollock shop, eh?  And it’s nice that you have a little island - well, not fucking  sanity \- but a bit of calm.’

Julius’s eyebrows went up. Malcolm was being almost  effusive . ‘Well, um, that is- it’s very  kind of you to say so. And my door is always open, kettle always on, when you’ve got time.’

Julius unluckily caught the moment Malcolm’s eyes darted to the clock. ‘Speaking of time,’ Julius said, slightly  nettled , ‘please don’t let me keep you.’

‘It’s no’ like that, Julius,’ Malcolm protested. ‘But they’re voting on the fucking  fox-hunting bill once a-fucking-gain. An’  one of the morons is just  bound  to say something stupid.’

‘Will your Blackberry not start ringing, were that the case?’

Malcolm looked at him. ‘This is a  private meeting , Julius. In your  home . What the fuck do you think of me, eh? I’ve turned the fucking thing off. Well, onto  silent .’ He jerked his head towards his bag. ‘It’s in there.’

Julius coughed, afraid his face - as ever - might be  giving him away . ‘Well, why don’t I make some more coffee,’ he stood, and started bustling, ‘I shan’t be a moment. You can check your messages and leave it on, then if you hear anything you can dash straight off. Does that suit? Have you  eaten ?’

Malcolm, after a moment, shook his head. He was trying quite hard not to look  guilty . It was  none of Julius’s business when or whether he ate. Julius looked unsurprised and tutted. ‘Then check your messages  now , and if you can stay come down to the kitchen and I’ll find us something.’

Malcolm checked his Blackberry. One message, mildly urgent. Well, fuck them, he thought savagely. It wasn’t so urgent it couldn’t be dealt with in the morning (Malcolm was a fine judge of just how long things could be left before they went nuclear). He stuck the phone on vibrate, slipped it into his pocket and went downstairs to see if Julius had any  smoked salmon . Malcolm fucking  loved  smoked salmon.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nicola Murray launches a policy, Ollie Reeder demonstrates his ability with impersonations, Malcolm Tucker makes an admission and Julius Nicholson makes a declaration.

_Malcolm Tucker's offices, Westminster_

Julius knocked sharply on the door of Malcolm’s office and burst in with scant regard for politeness or propriety. He brandished a newspaper in Malcolm’s face, who grinned wolfishly.

‘Julius! Always a pleasure. I take it you’ve seen the news? Have a pew.’

Julius sat down (he was, truth be told, feeling rather  shaky with the weight of mixed emotions) and began to read from the front page. ‘ Conservative donor Darius, Lord de Vere, was today arrested after evidence convincingly linked him to a drug cartel that stretched from Afghanistan to London and New York via Moscow. Scotland Yard have refused to confirm that he is also under suspicion of numerous charges of people trafficking and assault, nor will they comment on rumours that American officials have issued an extradition warrant.  Malcolm- what is the  meaning of this.’

‘Looks like your friend’s come a bit of a fucking cropper. So sad. Couldn’a happened to a nicer man.’ He paused for a second. ‘Julius, surely you’re not  suggesting? I’m a powerful man, but I can’t get a man locked up.’

‘Not for crimes he didn’t commit, perhaps. But I refuse to believe that you didn’t have some hand in this.’

Malcolm watched Julius carefully, fingers drumming nervously on his desk. He really fucking hoped he hadn’t misjudged things.

‘Well, I wanted to say thank you. I’m not a man of  vengeance , Malcolm-’

‘-good job I’m here then.’’ Malcolm’s fingers stopped drumming and he sat back in his chair. 

‘- but I nevertheless appreciate it. I can hardly say I’m  sorry Darius has- well, that his misdeeds have caught up with him.’

‘I thought anyone fucking  evil enough to fuck about with you must have been pretty fucking unpleasant, so I put my feelers out. Called in a few favours, you know the sort of thing.’

‘You’re almost  scarily good at this business, Malcolm.’ Julius really did feel quite  weak . He was just hoping Malcolm might offer  tea  when Sam came in with a tray. Julius gave her a cheerful smile that changed to a slight frown when Malcolm followed her to the door and locked it as she left.

Malcolm paced for a few seconds, eyes darting all over the room. ‘This wasn’t business , Julius.’ 

Julius, once he reminded himself to  breathe , noticed the faintest pink flush infusing Malcolm’s pale cheeks. ‘Malcolm-’ 

‘I saw your face - when you were talking about that  cunt ,’ Malcolm’s voice was low and almost gruff. ‘ No one makes you look like that, d’ye fucking hear me? No one.’

Julius stood, awkwardly facing Malcolm, twisting his hands together. ‘I didn’t- I wasn’t  certain how you felt Malcolm.’ He paused, trying to get his  mouth to cooperate again and form words. ‘II- would you allow me to take you to dinner? Not- when you’re free, I mean.’

Julius could almost  feel the time crawling past his face, stinging his eyes and settling heavily in his stomach while he waited for Malcolm to answer. Just as he began to be sure that Malcolm was stifling laughter , Malcolm took a pace forward and rested one hand tentatively on Julius’s upper arm. To Julius’s  pain,  Malcolm looked  sorrowful . ‘Jul’us, I- you don’t have to do that.’

‘I’ve not the slightest intention of doing it because I  have to.’ Julius’s tone was sharper than he intended. He was finding it difficult to  concentrate with Malcolm standing so close. And if the man  was intending to refuse, Julius wanted none of his sympathy .

Malcolm seemed to be having some trouble formulating sentences. ‘You- for fuck’s sake. You should have someone you can take to  Glyndebourne and install in your fucking lovely house and take to lovely fucking dinners and introduce to all your lovely Poxbridge friends. Someone who can gi’ you a haand tying your cravat. You’ll only regret it if- well. I’m maybe no’  modest , Julius, but I know the fucking score, eh? And I’ve seen a mirror as well.’

‘Malcolm Tucker that is  nonsense .’ Julius warily brushed his fingers along Malcolm’s jawline. To his astonished relief, his hand wasn’t batted away. Malcolm exhaled heavily and his eyes dropped shut. ‘Even were I to accept your  premises , which I do  not because, as I said, they are  ridiculous , the fact remains that I-’ he swallowed and met Malcolm’s pale blue eyes with his own, ‘that I  want you.’

‘Jul-’

‘If you don’t want me-’ Julius continued, fingers now gripping Malcolm’s jaw. Malcolm still had his hand half wrapped around, half braced against Julius’s arm. ‘That’s quite another thing, and I shall leave now and say no more about it. But you’ll- you’re going to have to be a bit more convincing than a rather half-heartedly sweary rant about Glyndebourne, if that’s the case.’

Malcolm, out of words, grabbed Julius’s shoulder and kissed him. He was  amazed that he hadn’t tried this method of shutting Nicholson up before. He managed to get Julius backed up against the desk, one hand in the short, impossibly soft hair at Julius’s nape before Julius did something  extraordinary with his tongue and Malcolm lost the ability to think. 

Julius felt Malcolm relax completely against him and gently (he  thought gently; he might have got slightly  carried away ) manoeuvred them away from the desk (Julius  disliked being trapped) until he had Malcolm pressed against the bookcases ( Malcolm against the  bookcases , Julius thought giddily). 

Julius allowed Malcolm to claw off his tie (Julius been a man of foresight , had let Malcolm get rid of his some moments previously) before pinning his wrist against a shelf. Somewhere behind the triumphal chorus resounding in his ears (he was  with Malcolm Tucker , Malcolm was  letting him -) he heard Malcolm  moan as Julius’s fingers encircled his wrist. 

‘Not  here , Julius,’ Malcolm snarled, making a half-hearted attempt to push Julius away that only resulted in him pushing his hips up against the taller man’s. ‘Not in my fucking  office \- I thought you - of all people - might fucking manage a  bed -’

Julius smiled, trying to parse this while Malcolm alternately nipped and kissed at his neck. ‘Malcolm - I’d -  fuck , Malcolm. If you want a coherent- ah- response, I think you should  desist -’ Julius had always been a  single-minded man, and found this sort of  multitasking rather  difficult . 

He tightened his grip on Malcolm’s wrist, rewarded with another moan and the welcome sight of Malcolm’s head falling back against the bookshelves, exposing his neck. ‘Do you have anything scheduled this afternoon?’ he murmured, dipping his head to kiss over Malcolm’s collarbone, hard enough to raise a small red mark.

‘Not- nothing important. Sam’ll-’

‘Clever girl, Sam. Right, I’ll- ‘ Julius stooped for another kiss. He  wouldn’t let himself start moving against Malcolm, nor think too much about the lithe body pressed against his. Malcolm was  quite right that this was  not the place . He forced himself to step back. He smoothed his shirt, tucked it back in ( sneaky bastard , Julius had never  seen that hand until it was raking his back) and ran a hand over where his hair would have been. 

‘Sep’rate cars,’ Malcolm snarled, rather  spoiling the effect by looking distinctly flushed and somewhat dishevelled. 

‘Naturally, darling.’ Julius hadn’t  meant to say it, but all that happened was that Malcolm’s eyes shut again for an instant. Julius planned to  spoil him when they got home. He’d never  met a man more clearly in need of someone to make a  fuss of him. ‘And to my house.’

Malcolm nodded. He was dimly aware he should assert himself in some way at this point, before the world’s shiniest windbag thought he was in charge here, but he found that his brain, always ruthlessly expert at prioritising, had already moved on to planning exactly what they might do when they got to Julius’s. _School hall, London Community School for the Criminal Underclass_   _(soon to be an Asda New Academy)_

‘Oh my God,  they’re  here,’ Glenn hissed, all but  pointing at the two people who had just materialised at the back of the room. ‘Fucking  hell . What do we even say?’

‘You’re not going to  mention it? And of course they’re here - is your dementia playing up again? Nicholson wrote half the  policy  and he’s an old friend of Kannibal Kim-’

Glenn glanced about furtively to make sure  that hadn’t been overhead. Kim was their feted youth talisman, their best hope of publicity and (a minor consideration) actually  achieving the policy objectives. And Glenn disapproved on principle of misspelling words for so-called comic effect. 

‘-and, in the time he could spare from the interviews on the worst kept secret _ever_ , Malcolm masterminded the  launch . Which is why we’re  here not in a nice  hotel -’ Ollie continued.

‘Or a godforsaken community centre. Once you get past the metal scanners at the doors, the school seems quite  nice inside. But ok, even if it’s not surprising, what do we  say ? The journalists seem to have got bored with it-’

' _Bored_. Yeah. Not at all threatened and beaten into never mentioning it again. Come on, Glenn. You know how this works. They gave one feature interview, with a couple of photos, to the _Guardian_ , went on the _Today_ programme, and then threatened to kidnap and torture the kids of anyone who brought it up again. And they _do_ have the attention spans of ADHD gnats, which can't hurt.'

'That's all very well. But we're _not_ journalists. So what do we _say.'_

‘We say “what a lovely launch” and “isn’t Nicola doing well”  and “this is the government making a real difference” and “aren’t children the hope of the future”, Ollie said glibly. ‘We do not say, “oh hi Lord Nicholson, we heard you on the Today programme making John Humphries regurgitate his Coco Pops when you said it was a manifestation of his blinkered close-minded heteronormative prejudices that he thought just because Malcolm has been  married he can’t also be  bisexual .” Nor do we ask who tops.’

‘God , Ollie. Your mind really is a sewer, isn’t it. And now I have to live with that image for the rest of my life.’

‘Well, look on the bright side. That’s probably only another, what, five years, max? And don’t tell me you haven’t  thought about it.’ He began what he intended as an impression of Nicholson. ‘ Ah , Malcolm, if I may be permitted to interject, before you rwecommence your qwite exquisite sucking of my oxbrwidge love rwod, I feel it would be, ah, only fair to inform you that I feel my climax is imminent.’

Glenn looked about for something to kill himself with. A pen, an elastic band,  anything . He looked to see if Nicola might need some urgent help with something, but she was no doubt in the corridor designated as the ‘wings’ of her stage. He and Ollie had been  banned from the area. 

‘Aw, shuttit, yer bawldy fuckin’ oxbridge tosspo’ an’ jest keep fuckin’ ma scortish mawth,’ Ollie continued gleefully and thankfully  sotto voce . Glenn slapped the back of his head, which provided a moment’s respite.

‘Do you think Nicola knows her lines?’ Ollie said, rubbing his head and glaring at Glenn.

Glenn shrugged. ‘She does. She was actually, though I hate to say it,  quite good when she did the run through. This might even be a  success , Ollie. I think I’ve forgotten what that would feel like.’

...

Malcolm stood at the back, slouching against a wall as Nicola began her speech. ‘Did you tell her what to wear?’ he murmured.

Julius smiled. ‘Not in so many words. It’s been more of a  process . You were always rather _harsh_ on her taste. All I did was give one or two pointers. You know, just an offhand compliment when a particular colour suits her, what dress flatters her figure, that sort of thing. More carrot, less stick.’

‘Look at her! It’s like Thatcher was reborn as a human being.’

‘I did pick the handbag. From a selection. You do realise,’ Julius continued, seeing that Nicola was into her stride and the assembled teachers, students, community leaders and hacks were either listening with rapt attention or doing a good impression of it, ‘that this is our first  public engagement , darling.’

‘Jul’us. We agreed . Call me darlin’ in public, sweetcheeks, and I’m fucking working late all week.’ Malcolm turned and grinned up at Julius, who returned the smile. 

‘Call me sweetcheeks again, darling, and I shall try out the bed in the  spare room .’ Malcolm failed to look convincingly hurt. 

‘We already did. I’m surprised you’ve forgotten.’

Julius’s cheek went a delicate rose. ‘I  meant , try it out for  sleeping in, you impossible man.’

‘ Anyway , we’re no’ here  together , Julius. It's not fucking _Ascot_. We’re here as about-to-be-reinstated Chief of Policy and the never-fucking-defeated Chief of Press and Communication, overseeing a fucking  good speech from rising star Nicola Murray.’

‘Indeed . And, if I may say so, well done on the pupils you’ve got on stage. Naturally, I deplore the cynicism, but one must give the press what it wants, I suppose.’

Malcolm grinned. ‘Good aren’t they? Hoodies and gold chains and scraped-back hair an’ cheap extensions, but  also smiley and positive and goin’ places. Jus’ wait ‘til you read the profiles of them. All of them  were in gangs, and now they’re doing Latin A-level and Grade 8 violin.’ Julius pursed his lips slightly. ‘And we’ll put Kim,  Guardian  darling, up front for the photos.’

One of the teenagers had taken to the podium and was expounding eloquently on what the scheme would mean to her. Nicola beamed just behind her.

‘That’s my girl, staying just in shot. So will you miss DoSAC, Julius?’

‘The people, yes. I must admit that I find their offices not very conducive to sustained  reflection or any deep thinking. It’s probably  conditioning but a nice desk and some panelling does help one think. And of course being right back at the  heart of government has its benefits. The ear of the PM, et cetera. But I expect Nicola and I will keep in touch - we have a few more policy ideas in the pot.’

‘An’ PMs change, of course.’ Malcolm murmured, as the applause started and Nicola took back the podium to give her final remarks. Even the  journalists  were clapping. He already knew all the questions for the Q&A, and he was fairly convinced Nicola knew the answers (one good thing about her delivery style: however much you rehearsed her, it always sounded as though she was making it up on the spot) . He listened with a small portion of his mind, and devoted the rest of it to the far more pleasant awareness of Julius standing beside him in an immaculate suit, radiating  contentedness  and solidity. Malcolm wasn’t enough of a fucking jessie to appreciate  either the suit or the solidity, of course, but it was nice to know that he was making his Baldy lordship  happy .

  



End file.
